


super trouper beams are gonna find me

by davenpitts



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Boyband, Crack Treated Seriously, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Musicians, Sort Of, lighthearted fun all around, this is an angst free zone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davenpitts/pseuds/davenpitts
Summary: Ashley Graham: the girl behind the Twitter account leonfmekennedy, writer of smutty Leon x reader fics, stressed college student, avid fan of the popular boyband The Raccoons.Leon S. Kennedy: lead singer of The Raccoons, heartthrob, recently single, thinks he can solve every problem with money and booze.It's easy for your idol to notice you, harder to meet them. But Ashley meets hers anyway, and the two form an unlikely friendship.
Relationships: Ashley Graham & Leon S. Kennedy, Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers/Chris Redfield, Sherry Birkin/Jake Muller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	super trouper beams are gonna find me

**Author's Note:**

> hope you're all staying healthy & sane! i've had this fic in mind for a few months & thought now was as good a time as any to post it. this fic is pure lighthearted fun because goddammit the world needs a resident evil fic that isn't angsty af! fyi the idea for this fic came from a drawing on instagram user [noctart's](https://www.instagram.com/noctart/) story; it featured leon as a singer in a boyband & ashley as his biggest fan! she gave me permission to write a fic based on the idea, & also allowed me to use ashley's twitter username (leonfmekennedy...what a mood). as you can see there'll be some ships featured in this fic, but friendship will be the main focus of this fic. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i've enjoyed writing it!  
> (fic title comes from "super trouper" by ABBA & the title for this chapter comes from "borderline" by tame impala)

Sometimes Ashley Graham wasn’t sure whether she wanted to fuck Leon S. Kennedy, lead singer of her favorite band, The Raccoons, or be him. 

One would assume from her Twitter username (leonfmekennedy) that she wanted to fuck him, and she did. Desperately. But she wanted to be him just as bad: spending the better part of her days surrounded by three handsome men, having more money than she knew what to do with, being loved by millions, seeing the world…who wouldn’t want that?

He was taken—by a model, no less—but a girl could dream. And dream she did. When she wasn’t at concerts or immersing herself in her studies, she was writing Leon x reader and Chreon fanfiction, most of them smutty.

Never mind that Ashley was nothing more than just another fan to Leon, that Chris was straight and dating former women’s basketball star and current chemistry professor Rebecca Chambers. That didn't stop her; if anything, it made her write more.

Aside from Leon and Chris, The Raccoons also consisted of Jake Muller and Carlos Olivera. While Leon was known for his hair, Chris for his muscles, and Jake for his shaved head, Carlos was known for his thick Latin American accent. They were all attractive, of course, and muscular, too, but there was something about Leon that made Ashley feel like a teenager again. Was it his hair, which looked impossibly soft and shiny in every interview, at every gig? Was it his voice, deep when he talked and soft when he sung? It could be anything, which also meant it could be everything. 

She was twenty-one—far too old to be lusting after a celebrity six years her senior who didn’t even know her name—yet here she was, attending every concert and meet and greet in her area, hoping he’d notice her in the crowd.

But real life wasn’t like the fanfiction she wrote. All she could do for now was Tweet about how angelic his voice sounded in the latest single, write the next scene of her latest fanfiction, and hope he was having a good day. 

* * *

Leon hadn’t had a day this shitty since prom night, when he caught his date sucking off the star football player in the bathroom.

It all started when some asshole bumped into him on the sidewalk, causing him to spill half of his $5.25 venti Nitro Cold Brew on his $4,5000 Gucci leather jacket. Not long after, his girlfriend, a model by the name of Ada Wong, dumped him via text. 

He’d known for a while that their love was the unrequited kind, knew that she stuck around as long as she did for the clout and because the envy she’d receive from his fangirls turned her on (not that Leon considered that a bad thing). Even if their jealously came in the form of death threats, Ada would still sneak into his mansion at 2 A.M. using the spare key he’d given her and ensure he was sore for the next few days, which was the last thing you wanted to be when you were a popstar and spent most of your days standing. 

Apparently the excitement had worn off. Leon hoped she’d at least have the courtesy to return his key.

_ I’m sorry, Leon,  _ the text had read. _It’s over._ The woman was skilled at many things—most of them sex related—but breaking up was not one of them, it seemed.

Little did he know, his day was about to get way shittier. 

Leon was about to pour some whiskey into what little remained of his cold brew when his band’s manager, Excella Gionne, called and insisted he meet her in her office.

Leon filled a flask with whiskey in the off chance he’d need it later before donning a leather jacket that wasn’t speckled with coffee stains and hopping into his navy-blue Ferrari. Ordinarily he’d run every red light and exceed the speed limit (40) by twice that, but today the road to Umbrella Records was heavily congested.

Leon cranked up his music to mask the constant honking and cussing. His flask of whiskey rattled on the dashboard with the bass. He sipped from it between songs. 

When he finally entered Excella’s office, his bandmates were already there. Judging by their failure to greet him when he entered, their agent didn’t call them here to tell them they’d gone double platinum. 

“Have a seat, handsome.” His manager ordered.

Leon sat between Carlos and Jake and crossed his legs, which he’d never noticed were long until his fangirls pointed out that they were. They affectionally referred to him online as “Daddy Long Legs.” 

If his bandmates wouldn’t greet him, Leon would. “Hey.” 

Jake glanced at his phone. His wallpaper was him and his girlfriend, Sherry Birkin, at Coachella last summer. “Rough morning?" He asked Leon.

“About that…” Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. Face the music. Suck it up. “Ada dumped me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Jake said at the same time Chris remarked, “I never liked her anyway.”

To Jake, Leon replied, “Don’t be.” To Chris, he said, “I know. You only told me you didn’t like her a million times when we were together.”

Carlos threw his shoulder around Leon and pulled him towards him so that his cheek was pressed against his shoulder, which wasn’t as broad as Chris’ but definitely broader than Leon’s. Whatever. He’d always been on the slimmer side anyway. 

“I’m finally not the only single Raccoon! Thank you, Leon. Or rather, Ada.” He ruffled Leon’s carefully styled hair before releasing him.

Leon fixed his hair. “Watch the hair, Olivera.”

“Put a whole bottle’s worth of product into it as usual?”

“Says the guy whose hair literally looks like a bird’s nest.” It was banter like this that made Leon feel better after every breakup, every hangover, every 20-hour flight.

_ “Boys.”  _ Their manager snapped. The men faced her instantly.

“Now that I have your attention, it’s time I tell you why I’ve asked you to come here on such short notice.” She waited for everyone to quiet down before continuing, “As I’m sure you are all aware, record sales have been at an all-time low.”

Their latest album, Nemesis, had been a failure both commercially and critically. To be fair, their music had never been considered quote on quote good. It was meant to be danced to, not listened to. Meant to be played in the here and now, not decades later. Meant to be forgotten, not remembered.

Their fans, on the other hand, ate up whatever they put out. Leon was half-convinced they could release a song with his grocery list as the lyrics and their fans would still call it a masterpiece. 

“Furthermore, don’t take this personally, boys, but the four of you are either nearing thirty or well past it. I know some of you don’t like this term, but there’s never been a boyband whose members were in their thirties. They either disband and go solo or quit music altogether.”

By “some of you,” he meant Carlos, who’d huff in annoyance whenever the tabloids referred to them as a boyband. “We’re so much more than that.” He’d say.

“I wouldn’t suggest becoming a more…traditional band, as it’s likely you won’t be taken seriously by critics, and sales will plummet even more than they already are.”

Carlos suddenly stood up. “We were never taken seriously to begin with!”

“Mr. Olivera, would you please sit down?”

“No. For six years I’ve been waiting for the day we’d get the chance to become a real band, and you’re telling us we _can’t?_ ” 

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Excella said. “I’m saying you shouldn’t. If you wanna make a living out of it, that is.”

Now Jake stood. “Oh, screw making a living. We got money coming out of our asses, and you know it.”

“Now, yes. But ten years from now, twenty? You won’t have it forever, especially if you spend it as frivolously as you do now.”

Leon wasn’t the only band member who lived in a mansion, drove a sports car, and wore designer clothes. Why live modestly when you could afford to live limitlessly?

“The four of you can decide for yourselves which action you want to take. Sleep on it and let me know in the morning. And don’t forget you’re performing at the Palladium tonight.”

Fuck. Between all the chaos this morning had unleashed thus far, Leon had completely forgotten they had a gig later.

Now Chris stood. “We're gonna need more than one night to make a decision this big.”

“I’m afraid one night is all I can give you. You know I’m a busy woman.”

Leon was the only member who remained seated. He wanted to stand, to say something, throw something even, but didn’t. Couldn’t. He didn’t feel anything.

“Earth to Leon?” He heard Chris ask. “Are you even listening?”

_ Yes and no. _

Excella motioned to the door. “See yourselves out, boys, I have a twelve o’ clock waiting.” 

Leon was dimly aware of leaving the studio, of unlocking his car, of rolling down the window to hear Chris ask, “You okay to drive?”

Leon didn’t need to say anything for Chris to know that no, he was not okay to drive. He crawled into the passenger seat without getting out of the car. Chris found Leon’s flask on the dashboard and emptied its contents out the window.

“That’s expensive ass whiskey you’re wasting there.”

Chris shook the flask, ensuring that not a single drop remained. “I wouldn’t call it wasting.” He chucked the empty flask into the backseat and hid it under a T-shirt for good measure. Leon’s heart sank all over again when he remembered the shirt was Ada’s.

“Oh please, even if the fuzz wrote me up for that I’d just give them one grand. Shuts ‘em up every time.”

Chris put the car in drive and rolled out of the parking lot and into the street, still congested. _“’The fuzz?’_ No wonder Excella thinks we’re getting old. Anyway. What do you think we should do?”

“People don’t call cops ‘the fuzz’ anymore?” Leon asked. “What _do_ they call them?”

“Pigs, mostly. And you’re avoiding answering my question.”

Leon rolled down the window; the gentle breeze blew his fringe of bangs out of his eyes. “What question?”

Chris sighed. “The one about what we should do regarding our future.”

“Oh, yeah, that one.” Leon reclined his seat as far back as it would go and sank with it. He peeled back a leather floor mat to find a half-used tube of lipstick—another reminder of Ada. “Excella said to sleep on it, so that’s what we’re doing.”

He put his baseball cap over his eyes so Chris would think he was asleep and not ask him any more questions.

It worked.

* * *

Ashley’s stomach was in knots, as it usually was before a Raccoons concert. 

You’d think she’d be used to this by now, seeing the man responsible for her wet dreams and hornyposting in the flesh, mere feet away from her. Considering this was her twelfth time seeing The Raccoons live, she should be. But every time she saw Leon felt like the first. 

She wondered if he was as nervous as she was now. She pictured him backstage, doing breathing exercises with his bandmates like Sharpay and Ryan did in _High School Musical_ (the first one) before they sang the timeless banger that was “Bop to the Top.” But that was ridiculous—there was no way Leon S. Kennedy, perfection personified, experienced stage fright. 

Her nervousness dissipated the instant they—he—appeared onstage, all smiles and muscles and hair gel. It quickly became apparent that Leon was drunk. Ashley knew it was common for a musician to show up to a gig intoxicated, but she’d hoped Leon never would. He was better than that. 

Oh, well. Maybe this was a one-time thing, like when they all wore matching outfits at Lollapalooza 2017 only to never do so again.

Drunkenness aside, Leon was as gorgeous as ever tonight. Ashley swore he looked more immaculate every concert. Just when she thought he couldn’t get any prettier, she’d wake the next morning to a selfie of him and a fan or a photo the paparazzi had snapped of him while leaving the grocery store and find he’d grown even handsomer overnight.

She had once read an x reader in which the writer described him as a “reinforced concrete wall with a porcelain face,” and Ashley couldn’t agree more. She just wished she could’ve used that description in one of her own fics. 

His voice was as butter smooth as always despite having a slight slur to it. Ashley couldn’t help but notice that he forgot some of the lyrics to their songs. In his defense, The Raccoons didn’t write their own songs, as was the case with most popular musicians. 

Before she knew it, the show was over. One by one, they thanked the audience and jogged offstage, and it was then that Ashley had the idea to do something she’d been too afraid to try before.

She was going to follow them to their tour bus.

While everyone else sauntered towards the exit in a post-concert daze, Ashley went in the opposite direction, purposely shoving past a group of teenage girls carrying a sign that read “We’re your biggest fans, Leon!” _She_ was his biggest fan, and she was about to prove it. 

Luckily, she’d written (and read) enough x readers to know how to sneak to a tour bus without being spotted by security. She’d made it outside when suddenly the same fangirls approached The Raccoons and asked if they could autograph their sign. 

_ Now’s my chance,  _ Ashley thought. It was dark enough that no one noticed her slip past the liquor store, past the dumpsters, and into their tour bus, which was mercifully unlocked. Not only that, the driver was asleep; his cheek was pressed against the window, fogged by his breath.

She hid in the wardrobe in the bedroom and waited for the band—for Leon—to arrive. Before long there was a “Rise and shine, Barry” (Chris), a “I’m starving” (Carlos), and a _click_ as the door to the bus slid closed. 

Next there were footsteps approaching the bedroom and a “I’m taking a leak” (Leon. Leon!) and then he was opening the door and locking it and holy fucking shit she was in the same room as Leon S. Kennedy—

Unable to hold her weight any longer, the wardrobe door burst open and she tumbled onto the plush carpet. Her legs wobbled as she tried to stand; Leon helped her up. _What a gentleman…_

He looked down at her—God, he was tall. “Huh?”

Crap. She must’ve said it out loud. She smoothed out her plaid skirt, adjusted her scarf, and said to Leon the words she’d been practicing saying to her reflection in her bedroom mirror every morning for the past two years: “Hi Leon, I’m Ashley Graham, and I know you hear this all the time, but I’m your biggest fan, and it’s an honor to finally meet you.”

* * *

Leon didn’t actually need to pee. He’d locked himself in the bedroom because he needed some peace and quiet, and also because was pissed at Carlos.

The bastard had matched on Tinder with some chick—something Valentine, he recalled—which meant Leon was the only member of The Raccoons who wasn’t taken. Carlos was meeting something Valentine tonight at a sushi bar. “Fish won’t be the only raw thing I’m getting tonight.” Carlos had said. 

“I didn’t plan this, I swear.” He’d told Leon. “It’s just that I’ve been single for so long, and this woman, hell, she’s fucking gorgeous.” 

As for the peace and quiet, it looked like Leon wouldn’t be getting either anytime soon, as this Ashley Graham would not. Shut. Up. It was easier to tune people out while intoxicated; he’d stopped listening after “it’s an honor to finally meet you.” She wasn’t the first fan to sneak onto the tour bus. Good thing Barry wasn’t as shitty at driving as he was at making sure intruders didn’t sneak on board; they all would’ve died in a crash by now if he was.

Leon occasionally nodded and _hmm_ mmm-ed, hoping she wouldn’t ask him anything. He’d had his fair share of interviews, thank you very much. He suddenly remembered he was on the bus and not at home. Barry could start driving any minute now, and then he’d be stuck with Ashley for even longer than he’d already been. If he didn’t interrupt her now, she’d never leave. “Shouldn’t you get back to your friends? They gotta be wondering where you’re at.”

“Oh. I don’t have any friends. Everyone thinks I’m too annoying.”

_ Go fucking figure.  _

“You don’t think I’m annoying, right, Leon? It’s okay if I call you Leon, right? Or would you prefer it if I referred to you as Mr. Kennedy? Is that too formal? Because if it is—”

A common misconception about fans of boybands were that they were all white teenage girls. The Raccoons, however, had a diverse fanbase. While the fans who’d snuck aboard the tour bus varied in terms of gender, age, and ethnicity, they shared one thing in common: they left when Leon gave them a chaste kiss on the cheek. Surely this Ashley wasn’t any different.

Leon quickly kissed Ashley’s cheek, his lips just barely brushing the cool skin. “Alright, you got what you wanted, now get outta here.” 

Ashley touched the cheek he had kissed, probably thinking about how she’d never wash it again. This he expected; he’d seen dozens of other fans do the same thing. What he did not expect, however, was her to wrap her scrawny arms around his neck and pull him towards her and kiss his lips hungrily. 

_ This is new,  _ Leon thought as he fell backwards, onto the bed. Ashely broke the kiss to unfasten his belt. “Careful,” He warned. “It’s Gucci.” She nodded and gingerly set it aside.

Leon had never been one to sleep with his fans—that was all Carlos. Occasionally an online fan would claim she’d slept with him and give an incorrect estimate of his penis length as proof. The lengths ranged from twelve to eighteen inches; the girths from six to ten. Leon had been told he was big, but no man was _that_ big.

But Leon was lonely, and a bit drunk, and Ashely was kind of cute, if extremely annoying. Plus, they said if you couldn’t get over someone, getting under someone would suffice.

The bus began to move, but Leon barely noticed as Ashley had resumed kissing him, her breath smelling like overpriced, shitty concert venue beer. She unzipped his jeans. “Ada,” He groaned.

Ashley stopped. “Ada? My name’s Ashley— _oh.”_

Leon zipped his pants, fumbled for his belt. So much for getting under someone. “What’s ‘oh?’” 

“Your girlfriend—did you dump her?”

“More like the other way around.”

Ashley rolled off of him and stepped back into her skirt; she hadn’t taken off anything else. “I’m sorry.”

“And yet you were gonna have sex with me anyway.”

“I didn’t see you complaining!” She exclaimed. 

There was a knock on the door that startled them both. “Leon? Someone in there with you?” Chris asked.

Leon put a pillow over his head and groaned into it. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“What else happened?” Ashley asked, then shook her head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Leon pried the pillow from his face and sat up. The thing he least wanted to do right now was talk, but usually the thing you least wanted to do was the thing you should most be doing. “My manager, she said we’re getting too old to keep making music. As The Raccoons, anyway. This wasn’t even an hour after I was dumped, by the way.”

“She wants the four of you to go solo?”

“That, or never make music again. Probably gonna go for the latter—I don’t know jack shit about songwriting, or finding a new manager, a new label. The thing is—” He could not believe he was venting to someone he’d been seconds away from fucking. “I love what I do. Chris, Carlos, Jake…they’re like brothers to me. I’d like to continue making music with them, just no longer as The Raccoons.”

“I know a thing or two about writing.”

Leon leaned forward. “You write songs?”

“More like fanfiction,” Ashley admitted.

“Oh. Well, writing’s writing. Medium doesn’t matter.” 

Chris knocked on the door again, more impatiently this time. “Leon, open up.”

Leon looked at Ashley. “Wanna meet the rest of the band?”

Ashley beamed. “Do you even need to ask?”


End file.
